


But The Light Is On (What You Waiting For?)

by Memories_of_the_Shadows



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Being Lost, Chantry Issues, Even If You Know Where You Are, Gen, Home, Implied/Referenced Genocide, Letters, Platonic Relationships, Post-Chantry Explosion, Talking Darkspawn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:13:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23700622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Memories_of_the_Shadows/pseuds/Memories_of_the_Shadows
Summary: Anders never had a plan forafter, but he finds a possibility somewhere he thought he could never go back to.
Relationships: Anders & Justice, Anders & Mahariel (Dragon Age), Anders & Velanna (Dragon Age)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 17





	But The Light Is On (What You Waiting For?)

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from "Front Porch" by Joy Williams.
> 
> **Bold** is Justice.
> 
> I do not consent to my work being hosted on any unofficial apps, especially any with ad revenue and subscription services, or any website other than ao3 unless I personally cross-posted a work.

Anders is… tired.

He’d never expected to survive this long, what with first Templars, then Darkspawn, then just the _constant_ danger that Hawke found themself in, and coming back around to Templars again. Even Justice was surprised that they had survived so far.

Being on the run isn’t hard, per se. Anders has certainly done it enough that it’s actually rather _easy_. A bit of crushed blood lotus rubbed into his hair to make it darker, a trim and a new hairstyle, let his beard grow out, trade in the robes for some clothes filched from a line, give away the staff Hawke gave them in favor of one that looks more like a walking stick, and no one looks twice at him. They definitely don’t think of him as the mad rebel apostate that the Chantry is after. If they’re after him. Reports of his ‘death’ vary.

But he’s _tired_. He’s closer to forty than he ever thought he’d get and years of getting to go to sleep in the same bed every night has made the constant travel harder than it used to be.

That, and hearing the fear on everyone’s lips, fear that he and Justice put there.

(What else could they have done? No one was listening, no one wanted to listen, **and no one cared about the injustices being done** \--yes, true, thank you, Justice--and they had _tried_ to empty the Chantry: threats, heavy hinting to Hawke and Sebastian, pleas for aid in Darktown and Lowtown, once even outright requesting that Elthina and the sisters leave to minister for a day, or a couple of hours, void, even just an _hour_ would have been enough time. Elthina definitely guessed, Sebastian probably guessed, and Hawke knew enough to warn the both of them but did any of them take them seriously about any of it?

No, and then Meredith threatened to annul the Gallows--with or without a writ, although Anders did not have much faith in Justinia saying no to Meredith after meeting Sister Nightingale and hearing news of an _Exalted March_ \--so they all ran out of time. He had to do _something_.)

Anders feels very alone, now at least. Even with Justice warming his soul, he hasn’t been this alone since before the _Fifth Blight_. Madame Sanga, Isabela, and his coworkers during; then Mahariel and the others after; and Hawke and the rest of them after _that_.

There’s only Justice now. Void, but he misses having others beside him, much as he loves the spirit tangled up in his, it’s just not the same. Justice doesn’t have a physical presence anymore, and Anders isn’t used to physical solitude anymore either.

They’re passing through a small village--barely deserving of the name, just a few houses and a merchant cart that comes every Windsday, which he hitched a ride on, only reason to be there really, cities are easier to get lost in--in Starkhaven (and Anders is very much enjoying thumbing his nose at Sebastian’s patrols that keep missing him) when the screaming starts.

“It’s a Blight, another Blight is upon us all!” sobs a particularly high-strung man who had stormed off after the merchant told him that he did not have Snoufleur skin--as well as that Snoufleurs were only found in Orlais, and that even if they weren’t, a merchant selling Snoufleur skin wouldn’t be going through this dinky little village, now would they, though far nicer; Anders was never very good with stupidity--who is now running back towards them at a surprisingly fast top speed.

A gossamer thread of awareness hints itself to Anders, something more like a single low-ranked Hurlock or a very old Warden than an imminent Blight. Probably a Hurlock. People generally don’t run screaming from Wardens.

Generally. Depends on the day and the Warden, really.

Still, Anders feels somewhat responsible for helping these people. He’s the only Warden around for at least a day’s ride in any direction and even a single Hurlock can kill an entire village if there’s not a decent warrior among them.

Swords aren’t really his thing, but he hefts one of the merchant’s just for the show of it and sighs, “I’ll bring this back if I survive.” It’s a joke but the merchant doesn’t know that and he just nods wide-eyed and trembling.

Anders has enough restraint to only roll his eyes when he gets to the tree line. His sense of danger is well and truly shot and he blames Mahariel. Hawke may not have helped anything but Mahariel took him to the Blighted Blackmarsh and it permanently broke his suspension of disbelief. Anything that came after _that_ mess was comparatively normal.

Following the thread of awareness is simple enough, and the darkspawn is suspiciously patient and still. Hopefully it _is_ a darkspawn. Dealing with half-ghouled Wardens is always an unpleasant reminder of what he has to look forward to if he lives long enough. Larius alone induced several nightmares alone that even Justice couldn’t stop.

“You… Warden…?” croaks a voice that sounds like it has already had a sword through the throat. Well, shit.

“Whatever the Architect wants, it goes through Warden-Commander Mahariel or the First Warden at Weisshaupt,” Anders says, readying his staff. They didn’t agree then and he doesn’t now but Mahariel made the decision to ally with the Architect for a reason. Ridding the world of the Blight once and for all is a noble goal. Anders _and_ Justice get that. It’s just, the Architect has a habit of kidnapping first and asking permission later.

The Hurlock--probably not nearly as weak as its Taint would suggest, that’s just how all of the Architect’s projects feel like--bares its teeth and nods. “Message… To… Warden….” It pulls a letter out of its breastplate and holds it out.

It has a bloodstain on it. Anders idly wonders if the Maker is punishing him for how many times he’s used ‘knickerweasels’ as a curse. Justice’s snicker echoes in his mind. (He knows that most people would assume that any punishment the Maker may hand down would be for _blowing up a Chantry_ but Anders has a lot of sins to get through before that and one would think the Maker would choose a less… well, petty if he’s honest, torment for something like that.)

He takes it, trying not to touch it too much. The Hurlock bares its teeth again--is it trying to _smile_? Someone really needs to draw a line in the sand for the Architect because darkspawn shouldn’t _smile_ no matter how ‘freed from the Taint’ it might be--and nods at them. It doesn’t leave.

“Thanks, I suppose?” Justice grimaces with Anders’ face, he dislikes these sentient darkspawn much more than Anders, and apparently simple manners are beyond the pale. It nods again, but doesn’t leave. “Go on, go away, you’re going to cause a plague this close to people.” He shoos it away like he would a cat.

Like a cat, it moves away from his hand but doesn’t _go away_. Anders hates everything.

“Return… Message…?”

And apparently someone is using darkspawn as messenger birds now. A wonderful, fantastic idea that definitely won’t cause a plague! If he and Justice were still part of the Wardens, they’d be filling someone’s ear right now.

“No, I’ll deliver the reply myself,” he says through gritted teeth. It’s probably a lie. They have no plans to get anywhere close to the Architect--Corypheus is still fresh in his mind and the similarities between the two of them are _haunting_ \--and the Wardens aren’t likely to want anything to do with _the_ Rebel Mage. Still, it gets the Hurlock to run off, away from the village, and Anders and Justice sit down in the cover of dead leaves on the ground to read the letter.

_‘Sent care of Seranni, because no one else can find your dumb shem arse anywhere and Hahren looked everywhere,’_ it begins.

Which implies that the Architect is keeping tabs on him. Wonderful. At least the Chantry isn’t likely to ask a darkspawn, sentient or no, for directions.

_‘I never knew you had it in you, I’m almost proud. You always blew wind harder than you shot spells, my annoying shemlen burden, so I didn’t believe it at first until Nathaniel heard from your shem friend, no matter how much you squawked about “the evil Chantry” last I was forced to be in your presence.’_

Velanna always did have a way with insults, Anders thinks fondly, he’s almost missed being flayed alive by her tongue, and not even in the fun way. He knows she doesn’t hate them nearly as much as her words suggest. She would never have written if she did. He misses all of them, but his scar aches and Justices rubs it to remind them both why they couldn’t stay.

_‘Perhaps this will give that Shem religion of yours pause the next they threaten a group they think is cowed but I doubt it. They never learn. None of you shemlen idiots do.’_

The writing changes from Velanna’s incongruously round and pretty hand to Nate’s spiky and quick one. Anders rubs his scar again and ignores the tears that threaten. (Void take them both but they _miss_ the Wardens even more than Hawke and the others in Kirkwall. Both of theirs’ first family, their first real taste of freedom and true care.)

_‘What Velanna has neglected to say--and really, Justice, did you have to blow it up with people inside? Mahariel had to send Sigrun to Weisshaupt to smooth things over, you’d know how much they like her if you’d stayed\--is that she thinks she might have found a solution to your, shall we say, two-body problem?’_

Justice wraps around Anders’ soul and holds tight but both of them echo curiousity and a little bit of longing. To be able to talk to each other again, see each other again, it might be worth it. But not if it gets Justice stuck in a decaying body again. **Trust Nathaniel** reverberates around in Anders’ head. And he does. But they’d trusted Hawke too. And now they’re alone and friendless again, hiding _again_.

_‘Anders, Oghren says he can still beat you in a drinking contest even if Justice helps you cheat. I think that’s what he said anyway. Sigrun misses you both and you’d best apologize to her, as she was the only one who actually thought you were dead. Get someone to teach you both how to better fake a death. This time isn’t anymore convincing than the last, and your friend keeps sending messengers to Amaranthine. I think they think you’d come back here.’_

He wants to go back there, but they’re too much trouble, and not even the Hero of Ferelden can keep them safe for long. He has the scars to prove it.

Mahariel had tried--that kind, sweet, _gentle_ man, who was lonely but loving, and the only father Anders’ will ever acknowledge having--but it had only taken one moment of relaxed guard, one bit of misplaced trust and Anders would have died if not for Justice. (He doesn’t want to lose Justice, not ever. He wraps his magic around the spirit as if that alone could make him stay.)

Nathaniel writes his and Sigrun’s love, Velanna’s name loops itself out in expensive green ink, a block of Dwarven print smells slightly of alcohol still and probably belongs to Oghren. He should have known they wouldn’t hate him like Hawke and everyone else from Kirkwall did. Velanna might have even thrown a party--it had been her who first taught Justice what the Chantry does to anyone who does not follow their careful plans, her fireside stories of elven heroes fighting until death against Exalted March after Exalted March until only the nomadic Dalish clans were left to remember and there are fewer of those every year.

Mahariel’s band of criminals and outcasts, and not a one of them with any more love for the Chantry than necessary to get by. All of them, given a second chance by someone who had no reason to trust any of them.

He could go to the Dalish, maybe, they think as he traces Velanna’s name. There’s many clans who would accept a human for a time, perhaps, especially in exchange for healing and teaching. Not all Keepers have healing talent. He’s done it before, though not for very long, and he’d been caught soon after.

**No, too much risk of Merrill finding out** , although how she kept so many contacts within the Dalish _after what she did_ , Anders will never know.

(He remembers the day it happened, remembers Hawke and their cloud of anger, Merrill stubbornly insisting that she was right to do it, Sebastian ineffectually playing peacekeeper, Fenris the only one willing to tell what happened to the rest of them, however taciturnly. None of them, **none of them!** , focusing on the fact that they had just killed the entirety of clan Sabrae--all of _Mahariel’s_ clan, his clan that he still mourned for, that will never know now that he is called Hahren by a Keeper, that they pool their knowledge of Dalish stories and Mahariel uses his connections to learn more than the Dalish could alone, that he carved out a place for the Dalish within the Grey Wardens in their memory--without a care or a thought for the dead or the living, only that Merrill had been thoughtless.

Anders had been sick for days, his brain superimposing Velanna’s massacred clan’s graveyard over the well-worn memory of the Sundermount, Mahariel’s deep, sad voice full of love and memory for his clan echoing in their thoughts, Justice beating and howling everytime they even caught a glimpse of Merrill. It had been Anders who went out and gave clan Sabrae as decent a funeral as they could manage. A forest will coat the Sundermount one day, and Anders thinks of the last story Mahariel has learned before he was called to Weisshaupt, the story of the Emerald Graves from the Ralaferin clan’s Keeper which Velanna had left open on his desk one day. A thing she did often, after she learned he was willing to check it for errors, but she would never ask him to do so with words.

It had been that massacre that made him think Hawke would forgive them eventually for the Chantry. He should have known killing a hundred humans would be different to killing almost a hundred elves.)

Orzammar might accept a Warden mage, he taps on Oghren’s signature, but Anders would spend the rest of his life in the Deep Roads, fighting darkspawn. He’d never see the sun again.

**The Avvar** were well-known to accept spirits and demons, but Anders couldn’t be sure they would accept them. The Avvar were a long way away for so slim a hope.

They let their tears mat his beard because he might as well have died in that square, Hawke’s dagger buried in his back. He mourns for the life he’d loved for only a year before he had to run. He mourns the routine he’d had for six years in Kirkwall. No one ever asked him if he’d wanted to be a mage. It was just the way he’d been born. He refuses to mourn that too.

The letter--at some point he’s clutched it to the scar on his chest, trying to press away an ache that isn’t even physical--flickers in the wind.

He loves them, his odd, argumentative family. And they love him. They have to protect them. They can’t ask for more from them.

Writing--not Velanna’s loops, Nate’s spikes, or even Oghren’s blocky print--catches his eye.

On the back, in faded brown ink that Anders knows Mahariel grinds himself from tree bark, in Mahariel’s own spidery hand, reads, _‘Da’len, please come home. We miss you. Don’t worry about it. I’d fight another Blight for any of you. --Cárthach Mahariel’_

Home. **Home**. H **om** e.

A chance to be with the closest thing to a family he’s ever had. A chance to live. A chance to see Justice again, face to face. A chance that he could bring disaster back to them all again.

_‘Don’t worry about it,’_ Mahariel wrote. Even after so long away, Mahariel knows them. _‘Please,’_ he wrote. _‘I’d fight another Blight,’_ Mahariel wrote, even though every life he’d taken during that time haunted him, every life he’d been unable to spare a wound to his soul.

It’s a risk. Anders doesn’t know if he wants to take it. But they do want to take it. They want it more than anything.

But, first, he has a sword to return.

**Author's Note:**

> This came from a thought that Velanna would be so proud of Anders for blowing up the Chantry. And since I love them both, and love the idea that they're the type of friends who insult each other terribly but God help you if you try to hurt the other, of course I had to write it.
> 
> Also, I don't hate Merrill. I love her, but I'm not the narrator of this story, and given Anders and Justice's relationship to Mahariel in this, I can see them being very upset at the events of ["A New Path"](https://dragonage.fandom.com/wiki/A_New_Path). Remember, characters can have biases and prejudices that the author does not.
> 
> If you'd like, come visit me on [tumblr](https://sachinighte.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
